eat, move, think, feel

Until a week or two ago, I had never heard of cricket flour. Yes. Flour made out of dehydrated, ground up crickets. But then somebody brought some cricket-flour cookies into work and they were passed around the lunch table.

Hey Mikey! I liked them!

They were actually pretty good. Chocolatey. Like… a cookie. Because the crickets had been pulverized into dust, they didn’t FEEL like crickets. (ie., I could not distinguish any little antennae or cricket-legs as I ate my cookie) There was no discernible cricket or insect like flavor. They just tasted like.. cookies. I had no idea I had stumbled onto a hot new food craze. WHO KNEW?

Cricket flour is a tasty source of sustainable nutrition, packed with protein, healthy fats and micronutrients. We start with sustainably raised crickets, which are slow roasted to bring out their nutty, toasted flavor. Then we mill them into a fine flour that becomes the basis of our delicious, high-protein baked goods and baking mixes.

All our products are free of grains and processed sugar, and are made with coconut oil rather than dairy products. Best of all, they taste terrific. When you’re starting with an ingredient as good as cricket flour, why would you add any of the “bad” stuff?

Crickets are also one of the most sustainable forms of protein on the planet. Last May, the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization published an incredible report concluding that edible insects may be the key to stabilizing the global food supply.

According to the UN, if edible insects become a part of the mainstream global diet, we can reduce greenhouse gases by 18%, and lower the average cost of food globally by 33%. Check out Bitty founder Megan Miller’s TED Talk to learn more about the benefits of cricket flour.

So what do you think? Would you eat cricket flour products to save the planet?

I’m not quite ready to pop a chili-flavored insect in my mouth, feet and all, but I just… might… be able to start with flour.

One of the things that I appreciate about continuing to serve as a Weight Watchers leader, is the ongoing conversation that happens with my members each week. Each week, we revisit one aspect of healthy living and get the opportunity to focus on that one small thing. And as I prepare for my meeting, and then reflect on it afterward, I get to ask myself if I’m doing what I can in that little area.

This week, the theme of the week was about making time to move. Specifically, the importance of PLANNING to move, and to know when, how, where and with whom we were going to do it next. On the flip chart, there was a range of options from “I always plan my workouts,” to “Activity? What’s that?” and in between there were some in-between responses. I realized that I have been pretty in-between. I always have these good intentions, but I don’t have a regular schedule for working out these days. Sometimes a friend will spontaneously call me up and we’ll go for a little run. Or I’ll show up at my old gym for a group training. But these things are not hardwired onto my calendar. They’re not my routine, so often they just don’t happen.

This happened once last month, and it was great. But … once.

After this week’s meeting, I looked at the blank spots in my Weekly (our little mini magazine handout) and answered those questions. I did the homework that I’d passed out. I knew that I was going to have to do something easy and accessible. I also remembered that that night, Nashville was returning after a hiatus. I told myself, OK, tomorrow, you have a date on the elliptical with the latest episode! It was that easy. I made a plan.

Next morning, I hopped on the machine all ready. I had a great 50-minute workout because there was no way I was going to stop or step down before those closing credits rolled. It was a great one.

Here’s the trailer for their book. I love the idea of passing the #wycwyc baton, one to another. Check it out on Twitter and Instagram. Let us all know the next time you make a healthy choice, what you can and when you can. Wick-wick!!

Back in 2011, when I was training for my first triathlon, I was a terrified, unathletic 50 year old who could barely swim across a pool, and who fell down every time I tried to ride a bike. I was a mess. I was by far the slowest, most struggling person on our team. Every single time we had a workout, I wanted to give up. I always came in dead last, whether it was a run, a swim or a bike ride.

But this was Team in Training, and we weren’t just training for ourselves. We were also raising funds for those who were dealing with blood cancers. Each team has team captains and honorees, or “honored patients” who remind us why we’re doing what we’re doing. Our team captain was AJ Jabanero, and his daughter Izzy was our honoree. I’ll never forget meeting them both at our season Kickoff.

AJ and Izzy (Photo from Katherine Resnick)

During one of our grueling training days, I reached my breaking point. I had had a panic attack in the open water, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. My legs felt like lead during the run. I was spent and discouraged and feeling like the whole thing was an enormous mistake. I pulled away from the team, sat down on the curb and just cried.

AJ came and sat down next to me. He listened to me bawl and snuffle. I told him about how I’d been trying so hard to be healthy, to do something strong and great with my body. I’d made a turnaround after being overweight and couch-potatoish and being diagnosed with diabetes. But maybe a triathlon was just too much.

He listened to me. He was very serious. He didn’t try to cheer me up right away, or give me a big pep talk. He just nodded and said, “I used to be like that too. Overweight. Out of shape. Not able to do much.” I couldn’t believe it. He said, yeah. He had not always been the fastest guy on our team of athletes. He hadn’t always been in this peak physical condition. Every time we had a team run, AJ was one of the front runners, finishing easily and quickly, and then waiting sometimes hours for the rest of us to straggle in. He was an incredible athlete. “Yeah,” he said. He told me that he’d also come a long way. I saw that he understood where I was. He’d been there. He had so much compassion.

Champion. (photo from Facebook)

AJ helped me get up that day. He continued to encourage me through the rest of the season, until I finally crossed that triathlon finish line, one of the very last that day.

I was so shocked at the unfairness of life when I learned that AJ had developed cancer himself, after his daughter Izzy went into remission. I was even more shocked and saddened when he passed away earlier this month. It didn’t seem possible.

What didn’t shock me, however, was the incredible turnout at a San Francisco run in his honor. I was so moved to see many of our triathlon teammates there.

photo from Facebook

We walked and ran to the Golden Gate Bridge, and there was AJ waiting to give us a fist bump. It made me cry but it also made me smile. Thank you AJ, for believing in me and in so many of us. We won’t forget. #AJSTRONG

Today marks my 30th day of eating Paleo. Woo!!! I’ve had a lot of surprises this month. Here’s my recap.

First, I learned to love a lot of things I either never liked before, or had never given much of a try. But given that I was someone who used to go through more than a quart of half-and-half a week (NO KIDDING), I had to figure some things out.

First off, was dealing with what to put in my coffee and tea. I tried coconut milk and almond milk. They were unacceptable. (in my drinks) Finally, I realized that all the joy had been sucked out of my caffeinated beverages, so I might as well just stop drinking them. The result? Not so much of a problem. I just stopped. Now, when I wake up in the morning, I just eat FOOD. And have some water. It’s fine. I’ve adjusted. Weirdly, I notice that I am, overall, MUCH MORE ALERT than when I was drinking caffeine. So there’s that. I realized that my coffee-and-tea drinking was a habit. A nice one. But it didn’t kill me to just switch to water. If you had told me this any time in the past few decades, I would not have believed it. I miss the ritual of coffee, the smell of it, the nice way that a warm mug feels in my hands. But I’ve survived that.

Then, the issue of actual “drinking” milk. I was also a big fan of drinking a glass of milk, like, for pleasure. Lo and behold, I discovered that I also liked goat milk, which apparently some people on Paleo (or is it primal?) enjoy. I did feel a little cheatish though, in addition to feeling like Heidi, enjoying her grandfather’s goats’ milk up in the Alps. I tried a few almond milks. BLECH. Then, something in the super-fancy packaging of this Pop & Bottle brand caught my eye one day when I was at the little market near my office. Yeah, this tiny little 10 oz bottle cost $6.00. But I decided to try it, and YUM. I mean, YUM. I just hope I can figure out a way to replicate it. I’ll just save it as a special treat though, since I’m not eating desserts or drinking alcohol.

Oh, yeah?! What about dessert?? Well, I did indulge in birthday cake (twice!) during the month. The first time, I was pretty sure I would die if I didn’t get to have a piece. So after much agonizing, I did. It was delicious. The second time, at the end of week 3, I figured I would enjoy another piece for dear Mr McBody’s birthday. Totally different experience. I could TELL that it was “good,” ie. high-quality, but it just didn’t have that same delicious sensation. I had a couple of forkfuls and then left it. I developed a real fondness for eating fresh raspberries with coconut cream when I wanted dessert. But the need for daily desserts really reduced drastically.

One of the best results, ever.

One of the very best things, though, has been the impressive reduction in my blood sugars. This number on the left is really the lowest I have ever seen it, since I began testing it in 2009. This was pretty dramatic.

I went to see my new doctor yesterday and had all my labs drawn. EVERYthing was in normal range, and especially my cholesterol and lipids were stellar. So there’s that.

But… how WAS it?! It wasn’t all easy. The first week was tough. After around 2-3 weeks, most of my craving for particular foods went away. But it was replaced by a strange sadness, like a mourning of the relationship I used to have with food. Which was, in many ways, like a love affair. I LOVED cheese. I LOVED certain kinds of desserts, and bread, and butter and so many delicious things.

The 30 Days are over. So now what? Well, yesterday I gave myself some sourdough bread with some real butter on it. It was… meh. I mean, I could’ve taken or left it. Today, I had a slice of homemade veggie pizza. Now that? That was pretty darn good.

Since starting on February 1st, I’m down more than ten pounds. This feels good. I’ve been trying to shed these pounds for the good part of a year, and this is the first time I’ve seen a steady decrease on a consistent basis in a long time. So I’m going to keep going. I might have a few non-Paleo treats once or twice a week, but I’m not going back to my pre-Paleo days.

This major re-setting of my food intake has been pretty dramatic. I’ve never eliminated so many different food groups ALL AT ONCE before. I learned that it didn’t kill me. Maybe quite the opposite. I’m feeling pretty alive.

Anybody who knows me, knows that I am one of the least likely people ever to go the Paleo route. ME? I probably love cheese and dairy products more than anyone, ever. I LIVE for cheese. I put half and half in everything (coffee, tea, MILK). But this past year and a half has not been easy. I’ve had recurring aches and pains, a plantar fasciitis or other foot pain (possibly posterior tibialis tendonitis) that would not quit, and weight gain and the like. It has not been fun. (reason for not blogging in forever: I hate doing nothing but whine for months on end)

In December, I got together with a dear friend whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. She looked FANTASTIC. I’d remembered her at my 25th anniversary party, hobbling around and unable to walk the one block to the beach. She was in terrible pain, also in her feet. But now she looked slim and vigorous, and had done a 6 mile hike in Italy! She had lost 40 lbs, she said, and felt terrific. What happened?! I asked. And she said: Paleo. She had visited podiatrists and surgeons and therapists and chiropractors and acupuncture, and finally her own primary care physician suggested she might try an “anti-inflammatory,” i.e. Paleo diet. She was one step away from surgery which had a small chance of actually improving her situation. So she tried. She said that within two weeks, her debilitating pain was GONE. And she hasn’t looked back since.

Well humph, I said. She said, “Don’t do it for weight loss. Do it for pain relief.” These words kept echoing in my head. I mulled it around. I just didn’t feel… READY in January, that universal month of Good Intentions and Resolve. But when February came up and I was still hobbling down the stairs from my bedroom every morning, I thought, okay. I WILL TRY.

I had to not think about it too much. I had to just do it. I bought the NomNom Paleobook, and read a bunch of stuff online (which is unending). I woke up on February first and set about learning how to make the most perfect hard boiled egg ever. (it involves pin-pricking the shell, and baking soda, believe it or not) And then I just started.

NO grains. NO dairy (except a little bit goat milk). NO legumes, sugar or alcohol. That’s a huge list of NO’s.

perfecting the hard boiled egg

The first week was pretty rough, I’ll admit. It was really an epic psychological battle. I whined a little bit on Twitter and Beki pointed me to this Whole30 Timeline, which pretty well summed it up. I definitely went through the “KILL ALL THE THINGS” phase and the “Hardest Days” phase. Somewhere in the past few days, though, I have felt myself calming down, sinking into it, and looking around in utter disbelief that I, the Dairy Queen of the Universe, have survived thus far.

Things I have noticed:

I’ve dropped some significant poundage. Even though this was not the primary goal, it has been a relief. YAY.

For the first time in about 10 months, I have been able to descend my stairs without leaning heavily on the bannister. Like – bounding down the stairs as in days of yore. Very thrilling.

Foot/heel pain: pretty much almost gone. Maybe a little teeny tiny ache. But: so much better.

For someone who has had 2-3 cups of cream-topped coffee or tea per day for decades, I’m now just drinking water. And weirdly enough, the lack of caffeine has resulted in feeling MORE AWAKE THAN EVER. Especially at night. My brain feels like a giant, light-filled cavern. For someone who is used to collapsing into oblivion the second I lie down, this isn’t exactly what I had bargained for. But I am finding it interesting. And once I do fall asleep, I sleep long and deep.

I’m actually not a social pariah or anything. I even brought this big bowl of roasted veggies to a birthday potluck and people acted like I’d brought a huge pile of freshly-minted cash. They fell upon it, and the bowl was empty within 20 minutes.

I don’t hate or feel repelled by the taste of sugar. I did have a moment, on day 7, when (at the aforementioned party) I thought I would die if I could not have a taste of the birthday cake. I whimpered to my husband who said I wouldn’t die if I DID have some. So I did. I was expecting it to be this moment of “BLECH! TOO SWEET! UGH! HOW COULD I EVER EAT THAT STUFF?!” but no. It was absolutely delicious.

I have developed a taste for green smoothies. This is nothing short of a miracle! I gagged at any liquid green anything previously, but my daughter came home with her NutriBullet and made a delicious concoction of kale, cucumbers, carrots, apples, oranges, lemon, ginger and the magic AVOCADO. Yes, it was yummy. She knew better than to put anything abhorrent like bananas in there.

Did I mention? My blood sugars have been stellar. :-)

I love olives.

Cauliflower is the miracle food! It can be made into “rice,” “mashed potatoes,” “pizza crust.” It can be roasted and pureed. It can substitute for so many things. We tried a cauliflower-crust pizza, on my 3rd day of Paleo. I was hosting a writing group in which one of my friends is GF and DF. But I knew it would also help me stay on the Paleo track. Well, it was a unanimous HIT. Even the people who COULD eat the regular pizza, were totally enamored with the cauliflower crust one. BOOM.

So, today is officially my halfway mark. According to the timeline, I should be feeling pretty awesome. In fact, I do feel pretty good. It’s subtle, but I’ll take better-fitting-clothes, fantastic blood sugars and pain free feet any day. It’s what I had hoped for. Even more, really. Because it hasn’t totally KILLED ME.

(edited to add) Well, it didn’t kill me. But I would be dishonest if I didn’t add – one of the strangest little sad things about it, is that it has somehow killed my joy of food. I mean, I LIKE the food I am eating now. It’s fine. It’s even delicious. But it feels very consciously like “food = fuel” and food is not about pleasure in the same way that it used to be. I no longer swoon over food. I no longer spend hours and days thinking about it. This is a LOSS. I just have to balance it out with what I’ve gained. I admit it’s been a little bit (more than a little bit?) sad.

What will I do when the thirty days are over? I don’t know. I think I’m going to take it one day at a time. To choose mostly Paleo, whole30 type foods most of the time. If I can keep it up 80/20, I’ll be happy.

In the meantime… it’s nice to be back here. I’d love to hear from readers who are Paleo eaters, who have tried it, who do it all the time or a little bit of the time. Now I’m curious!

Do you eat Paleo? What benefits have you noticed? What are the challenges? What are your solutions?

Last week, after I spoke on a panel on reproductive stigma and justice, an audience member came up to me and said, “I know you.” I looked at her. I didn’t recognize her at all – a warm smile, brown skin, dimples. I squinted and said, “Really!” She said, “You’re Foodie McBody. I follow your blog!”

I was overwhelmed by a storm of thoughts and emotion. What blog? Hahaha. I haven’t posted a thing in months. And who? Foodie McWho? That person was a person who had receded so far away from me. I’d changed my Twitter handle and Instagram name, and nobody called me that anymore.

Foodie McBody was a person who, once upon a time, took her health by the reins and galloped into a transformation. There were years of glory. The first 5k! The Weight Watchers Lifetime key! The 10ks, the half marathons. Four of them. The two triathlons and more 5ks than I could count. I loved my health and loved my active body and I was just proud and glad, even through the struggles. I had little bouts here and there – a sprained ankle, a wrist flareup. But they all resolved within a month or two, and then I was back in the saddle again.

But then 2013 happened. I call it my year of pain. When my hip gave up after the Oakland half marathon, my last, and told me I might need to get it replaced. And then the fateful bounce on the trampoline that ruptured my cervical discs and brought me to a halt. When I could do nothing more than move, agonizingly, from one horizontal position to the next. Surgery, recovery and rehab in small, tentative steps.

2014 was supposed to be my comeback year. But it has not been that. After a brief triumphant walking 5k at the start of the year, I have been plagued by a thyroid condition that stalled my metabolism, and a foot ailment that won’t let up. Plantar fasciitis turned to posterior tibialis tendinitis leading to some sort of Achilles problem. My Achilles heel, indeed. Every morning I hobble out of bed like a 90 year old. Actually, I hobble out of bed more painfully and slowly than my own 92 year old mother, which is humbling, to say the least.

my Achilles heel

Do I want some cheese with my whine? Well, why not.

2014 has been the year of humble. But if I’m honest I also have to admit that it’s been a year of fear. Recently our family re-watched Spirited Away, one of those hallucinogenic Miyazaki films. One of the most disgusting images is this creature, the Hungry Ghost, that eats everything in sight – frogs, bicycles, humans, and keeps wanting more. It grows into a mountainous blob of sludge, its arms outstretched, and stinkily consumes everything in sight. When our young heroine refuses to be intimidated by the ghost, and doesn’t run away from it, it starts expelling the contents of its innards. Finally it shrinks to a fraction of its enormous size, and silently boards an underwater train, presumably bound for freedom.

That image has haunted me. And I think that that creature is like my fear. It reminds me of the Before version of Foodie McBody. Before I charged into healthy living in 2009, I was afraid of everything. Afraid to move. Even when it felt good.

For much of the time these days, I am paralyzed by fear. Only recently I’ve been able to venture into small, almost laughable activities. I join a weekly AquaFIt class at our pool, where most of the participants are ten, twenty or even thirty years my senior. For an hour we splash around the pool with foam weights and noodles. It feels like play, but when I climb out of the pool, I have to admit it’s kicked my butt.

I walk silently in the redwood forest near my house. Today I did a silent walk and in the quiet green I thought about my fear. The sky was white, a little blue, like the inside of an ice cube. The air I moved through was chilly and perfect, and the sun blinked uncertainly through the clouds every now and then. What am I afraid of? I am afraid of pain. My left heel sent out little jolts. So what, I said. So what. It’s not killing you. I notice. What do I notice. It’s like electricity. It’s like heat. It’s like a twangy little song reminding me that I’m alive. I liked the feeling of my legs. I still have muscles there. They’re still strong. I pushed up the gentle incline and I didn’t wheeze. I didn’t die from shortness of breath. I was doing it. It was just a walk. Calm down, I told myself. You’re okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Worse than the pain, though, is the shame. The pain of shame. Of knowing where I was three years ago, that relentless athlete that swam in the icy, salty bay. The one who looked fear in the face and climbed on the bicycle, up hills, up so many hills, near whizzing cars and dogs. I ran and ran and ran. Three or four days a week, tweeting about my six pain free miles, my happy eight miles. These days I would consider it a victory to walk a 5k, to make it around Lake Merritt without sitting down, without limping. This is the greatest pain. To look in my closet and push aside the majority of the clothes, because nothing fits.

How to find compassion? That is what I want for 2015. The year of compassion. To say, it’s all right. You’re okay, whether you never complete another triathlon again. Whether those 15 pounds stick around like old friends. You’re okay. You’re okay.

These days do not look like 2010 or 2011. These days look like walking in the beautiful trees, like greeting my gray haired companions in the shallow end of the pool. Of meditating every morning, first in silence and then listening to the calm, warm voice of my teacher, leading me through the compassion meditation. Open to the possibility of being kind to yourself, he says. Open to the possibility of appreciating your life.

I know that I’ve been conspicuously absent (again). Yesterday I realized that I’ve been kind of holding my breath, since I got my thyroid diagnosis. I started on medication. And I’ve been dealing with my plantar fasciitis with a variety of measures: inserts, the Sock, visits to the chiropractor and podiatrist.

I got a phone call from my doctor yesterday. “Great news!” she said. “Your thyroid tests came back normal!”

I was floored. You’d think I’d be jumping up and down with glee, but no. It was one of those moments of reckoning, when I realized I had to stop attributing my weight gain to my faulty thyroid. And I realized that for the past several months I’d been telling myself these stories:

I’m sick and low energy and my body doesn’t work right.

No matter what I do, it will be undermined by my bad thyroid.

Better not to do anything.

I’m in pain from my plantar fasciitis.

It prevents me from exercising.

Better not to do anything.

I think about how I’ve responded to my various ailments this year (with fear and withdrawal), in contrast to how I responded when I first got my diabetes diagnosis five years ago. Then, the story I told myself was:

I’m not going to let this defeat me!

I’m determined to handle this and take control of this condition.

I CAN DO IT.

Big difference, huh? And of course these two stories yield vastly different results. I’ve been feeling really sad and glum and weirdly powerless. Which is so not me. Or not the “me” of the past five years. It’s been interesting, in a terrible kind of way, to see the huge power that our minds wield over our bodies.

This weekend I went to a BBQ hosted by my trainer. One of the guys from the gym said to me: “Hey! Long time no see! WOW, you’ve put on some pounds, haven’t you?!” I didn’t know what to say. Except, “yes.” And then slink away and cry.

So, my doctor gave me the green light yesterday. She also jolted me out of my big Excuse that I wasn’t even totally aware I was hiding behind: that no matter what I did, my body wasn’t going to work right.

I just went back and re-read the first couple months of this blog. I think I have some things to teach myself. I know it wasn’t a smooth road back then, but I had a kind of determination that is pretty absent these days. I am going to get back to more regular blogging, which = accountability, which I know from experience will = success. Hope you’ll be with me, people.

UPDATE: I was just noodling around on WordPress and came upon my “What Foodie Eats” blog. (which has not been updated since 2011!) I remembered that that was one of my most effective tools ever- to take pictures of every single thing i ate. It really helped to make me that much more conscious, aware and deliberate. I had to consider: would I be willing to commit to eating this thing, and to sharing it? I’m going to give it a go again.